Dark Road
by Drake-Seriel
Summary: The paths fork and divide. With each step you take, you make a choice and every choice determines your future paths. What choices will make a young doctor, when she meets one troubled boy and his butler? Sometimes she will be able to choose the path she follows. Sometimes her choices will be made for her. And sometimes she will have no choice at all.
1. Little missy

Chapter one - Little missy

All decent stories have a good ending. The writer needs to know where he should end his tale, because all of them have one thing in common - if they go on long enough they all end in death. Sometimes death can also be found on the very first pages, when the main character becomes an orphan and after years of hard labor with horrible relatives, discovers that he is "the chosen one", and from time to time saves the world. These are simple imperatives of narration and without them no decent story can exist. Therefore, I do not know if this tale is suitable to gain a reputation as one of the "decent" because it starts not with death, but with shopping. In addition, shopping done on one sunny autumn afternoon.

On exactly such a day, the Baroness Angelina Dalles, commonly known as Madam Red, was in search of new, red gloves so she would not have to think about other much more serious and miserable things. She nearly walked into another store when she had to make a choice. She saw someone whom she had not seen for more than five years and did not know if she should ignore him and go unnoticed minding her own business or simply do otherwise. After whole three seconds of pondering she did otherwise.

"Charles!" she called and ran, spreading clatter of red heels across the street, wanting to hug or hit the man who just climbed out of a carriage.

Lord Sinclair turned around and, seeing the woman running toward him bowed as befits a true gentleman at the same time smiling broadly with a mouth full of teeth a bit yellow from tabaco.

"Red, what a pleasant surprise," he greeted with a clear Scottish accent, making his words flow as smooth as a meadow river. "How long has it been?"

"Far too long," she replied, and took him by the arm, pulling from the carriage in the direction of a nearby cafe. "Really, for years you have been locked in these mountains of yours like some bear. I thought you'd forgotten me. "

Hearing this the man burst out laughing.

"My lady, I am afraid that I cannot forget you even if I try."

"So you tried?"

"For God's sake, of course not!" Charles laughed again. "If you had not noticed Scotland is not near London, and after my father's death I had to take over his duties. I greatly regret this little exile of mine. Believe me."

"Then what exactly is my favorite Highlander doing so far from home?" She inquired squeezing his arm encouragingly.

Lord Sinclair closed his eyes with a sight.

"Do you remember my niece, Evelyn? She is as stubborn as her mother, or as another person, whose name I will not mention out of politeness," he looked at her pointedly. "She has it in her head that she will not just sit at home sipping tea. She has decided to become a physician. Good God, that girl and her dreams will be my end, I just know it."

"My little Evelyn, seriously?"

"Oh, believe me; she is not so little anymore" it was clear that the man lamented because of it every night at least twenty minutes before going to bed. "She is a young woman now, however, she is stubborn like a mule. She has finished her second year of medical school so I came to assist her in obtaining an internship. You know how hard it's for a woman."

Madam Red bit her lips and after a moment of struggling with her frustration she punched him in the ribs.

"Two years she has been here and you did not tell me? I cannot believe it, I just cannot! And exactly how long have you been here? "

"I do not know. Two, three weeks?" he admitted sheepishly.

"Three weeks?" she clenched her teeth and stormed into a building like a livid Valkyrie chasing some unfortunate soul, leaving the man in cloud of dust.

Lord Sinclair quickened his pace to catch up with furious woman disappearing in the doorway of a tiny café huddled dejectedly among the huge London buildings. Under the bright sky, it hunched in itself, fighting against the chilly air. The half a dozen customers glanced up when the door swung open, heralded by a blast of cold wind. Contrasting to the outside, the interior of the café was warm and merry, with bright lights and colourful walls. The customers returned to their conversations as the door closed behind the new entrant and the cold breeze was forgotten as he carefully sat beside woman in red at the table in a corner, taking care not to earn another blow.

"Stop sulking, Ann. At the very beginning I didn't tell you about Evelyn because I was hoping she would come to her senses and return home. But two years had passed, and she is still standing by this foolishness. Honestly, I felt too uncomfortable to tell you after that because I knew you'd be upset that I didn't tell you earlier. I must admit that when I arrived few weeks ago I wanted to meet you, but then I heard about your tragedy. I have even seen Rachel. It was she who advised me to leave you alone for the time being."

Madam Red glanced down, stroking her fingers on the tablecloth, her thoughts far away where she would rather not had them at all.

"Red?"

The woman could not woke up until she felt a rough, calloused hand on her shoulder. She had enough of it.

"Please, don't say anything and don't even start about how sorry you are. I'm sick of all this pity. All I can do now is forget. I'm still young and I have my whole life ahead of me, right?" she smiled as if trying to convince herself, but not even a hint of amusement reached her eyes. "As for Evelyn, send her to me at the hospital, next Monday, eight in the morning."

The man blinked, confused.

"But… don't you have to discuss something like this with your boss?"

"Of course I do. Even so, send her to me," she replied with a nonchalant smile. Maybe Madam Red was only a woman in a man's world, but she could deal with anything if she had an adequate advantage, and sister with the name Phantomhive was sufficient leverage.

Ω

That is the story of how Evelyn got her internship at the London Royal Hospital. She could not say that the atmosphere there was overly friendly, nor that she had been accepted with open arms. Aside from doctor Dalles, no one was happy with her presence; taking her as a little rich missy with new-fangled ideas that got stuck into her head. Her work consisted mostly in assisting Madam Red in the simple procedures and studding operations that were more complex, but still "appropriate" for a woman. From the very beginning when Madam was not around others burdened her with the worst tasks, and being only an intern she could not refuse them.

Like now, for example. She had been given the task to prepare corpses and hand them to an undertaker. Evelyn reviewed the documents and examined the remains. Everything was in order. It was not a difficult task, but from what she heard, dislike for it was born not from overload of needed work. That also was not fault of the dead, because, frankly speaking, everyone was used to them. The reason for all this commotion was much more prosaic: none of the nurses or the paramedics wanted to have contact with the man who took the bodies. From what Evelyn had managed to find out he was a strange fellow, much more frightening than his clients.

She went to the doors leading to the backyard that was currently bathed in the pouring rain. London weather left much to be desired, that was for certain. She adjusted a lock of hair that was falling over her eyes. Idle waiting did not make sense. She could as well use the free moment to do something useful. The girl sat down on the nearby ramp and began looking through her notes of histopathology.

Ω

Undertaker hated the rain. It was not bad in itself, cold and dampness were not a problem for him, but there was something in it that did not agree with his nature. Maybe it was fact that every drop carried the breath of life, and this was in direct conflict with his being.

He adjusted a soaking wet top hat and pulled the reins. He had to turn the wagon to be able to easily load the bodies. Undertaker wondered who was waiting for him this time. Maybe it was the old and disgusting Montgomery, whom he loved to frighten? Maybe it was one of the nurses? He hoped it would be the short, freckled blonde. She was the easiest to upset.

He slightly raised his hat, seeing a person in medical smock sitting on the ramp. It was something new. Through a rain he could not see their identity very well, until he got closer. He grinned and almost bounced seeing a young woman- apparently an intern. No true doctor would allow themselves to be sent to meet with crazy undertaker, whose disgraceful manners were well known throughout the hospital.

The girl saw him, immediately got up and went inside. Undertaker parked the wagon, tied the horse, and as quietly as possible, snuck up to the young physician. He tapped her on the shoulder, which of course resulted in a scream and a mass of papers floating in the air.

"What the hell?!" she shouted, her face paled like a ghost at the scare. She turned to the man laughing his head off. "Are you trying to kill me? You cannot scare people like th... "

Her voice faded as soon as she looked at him. The girl blinked as if she did not want to believe her own eyes and abruptly bent down to pick up the papers. When she finished and stood up, she was already calm.

"Can you load the bodies? I'll get the documents and give them to you give them to you as a receipt. "

Undertaker wanted to say something, but he could not, because the woman had marched to the desk in the corner and persistently began to ignore him. She was not mortified by his presence; she rather treated him as a worthless worm, an unmistakable sign of the upper class. He adjusted the hat and began to load the corpses into the coffins on the wagon. Unfortunately, nothing will be done if he doesn't do it. After completing half of the work, Undertaker had to admit that he was disappointed. This girl was boring, and by the tone of her voice and sharp, quick moves, it was obvious that she did not tolerate nonsense. Where was fun in that?

He was almost finished, but the entire time he was there he could not shake the feeling that he knew this girl from somewhere. Without thinking, he threw a body on the floor and glared at the young doctor. She was quite pretty for a living human, but he had most likely met her a while ago. Therefore, she would have had to be a child then, and in his profession, he did not see too many children, at least one that was breathing. He scratched his chin. A little girl with black hair and electric blue eyes, tolerant to no kind of nonsense… Where had he seen her before?

Suddenly he smiled and gleefully rubbed his hands. He remembered and could not get rid of the one and only thought: This is going to be fun. Oh, so much fun!

Ω

He doubted he was any wiser than he had been three hundred years back. He was older. He had been up, he had been down, and he had been brought up again. Has he learned enough? He had indeed learned from his mistakes, but he still had time to commit more of them. At the moment he was trying to learn something new; or maybe he was just making another mistake?

Undertaker drove a shovel into the ground and leaned on it looking with pride on one more dug grave. This was not part of the memorial service and not because the cemetery was empty. Burying the urban poor he had become accustomed to the fact that funerals generally involved nothing more than throwing commoners into a mass grave, burying them and digging the next hole.

This time, however, he was doing something else. This time instead of putting the dead into their graves, he was pulling them out.

He began to dig again. Despite his unusual actions, he did not care about onlookers. The cemetery was located away from the village, and just before nightfall in rainy and windy weather the majority of the villagers preferred to sit at home rather than roam through the moors. Even if someone wandered by they would likely not notice him. People were in this matter particularly uncomplicated. They simply did not see things that they did not want to see, and the grim reaper- even the ex-grim reaper- was one of those things. Yes, people... they seemed to be nothing more than animals, which cared only for themselves. However, over time, when he saw hundreds of their cinematic records, he began to notice some scenes that did not fit with the rest. He began to see in their souls no dull work, but the mystery from the border of life and death that asked for the answer.

Without a problem he tore the lid off of a coffin. This one was particularly fresh; no more than two, perhaps three, weeks. Undertaker shifted the child's corpse over his shoulder and jumped out of the hole just to stand in front of something blue. It was not an ordinary blue. It was not the everyday sky blue, nor the color of the little flowers that spring up by the side of the road, nor even the paint flaking off of the old shed in the back of the field. Every tendril of the various shades of incandescent strikingly white-blue lined up next to another making it seem like white tundra. It was as if a blizzard was eternally raging on with a black void in the center. It did not capture light, but defied it. It was so blue that it literally glowed. Moreover, it stood at the height of his navel.

Undertaker blinked once, twice, but the unusual blue color still relentlessly glared at him- it belonged to the eyes of a little girl. He took two steps to the left, then two to the right, but the glare traveled after him with unnerving thoroughness. Against all odds, it seemed that this pale lassy could see him. For an extended moment his eyes remained steady and unblinking on her face. A deep vertical line pulled between his brows, as if someone had smacked him upside the head and he had not recovered.

"Yes?" he asked finally.

"Lat Carl be," demanded the Scottish girl in a tone that ruled out any possibility of disagreement.

Undertaker was quite unable grasp the situation, which was at the very least unusual.

"You mean this?" he made a gesture, pointing at the corpse.

"This is my frein," said the girl and with a loud hmph crossed her arms.

"This isn't your friend," he tugged dead boy's cheek. "It's nothing more than an empty body."

"If it's neathing but an empty corp, then get yoursel some other," she persisted.

"But this one is quite fresh, exactly what I need for my experiments. To your friend it won't do any difference," he assured, not knowing why he explained himself to the child. In fact, he found that it was quite funny.

"Maybe fur him it doesn't matter, but fer me it does. There are other fresh corpses. I will show ye if ye leave Carl. Although ..." she paused and gave him a critical look from the top of the hat to the tips of muddy shoes. "Actually, why do you need these corpses? Wha are ye? "

Undertaker smiled and bowed so low that the dead boy's head hit the ground.

"I'm just a humble Undertaker, missy."

"No, ye are no!" protested the child.

The man stopped.

"Am I not?"

"Ye're talking oot yer fanny flaps . I saw how ye dug the coffins. Ye are too strong for a man. Whit are ye?"

Well, he thought, if she can see me, she might also be able to see other supernatural things. Even normal children were much more open minded than adults, the latter of which were mostly just stupid.

"Busted," he admitted. His smile transformed his face from human to almost bestial. "I am what people call a Grim Reaper."

"Mince."

This time the smile immediately disappeared from his face and he was left speechless for good.

"Huh?"

"Last year we had a flu epidemic. Mony people in the village died. I saw a few different Grim Reapers. Each of them had a scythe and spectacles and ye have none."

Undertaker put the corpse on the ground and crouched down so their faces were at the same height.

"So you've seen them, little missy? In that case, you should have also seen their eyes," he whispered gloomily, taking her chin in one hand and the other lifting hair from his face. The girl, seeing the phosphorescent glow of chartreuse eyes, flinched and wanted to spring back, but strong grip stopped her.

The man chuckled.

"You recognize them, good. But you know what? Actually, you're right, I am not a Grim Reaper, not anymore."

"Are ye no?" she could not believe him.

"It was particularly boring. I have now more interesting job."

"I didn't know ye could stop being a Grim Reaper."

"You can stop being anything, my dear."

The girl wanted to express her doubts, but was interrupted by sudden rustling of nearby bushes. Two dark shapes jumped out, and lazily purring, leapt to a nearby tombstone.

Undertaker looked at the dun cats that seemed to reciprocate it with unusual for these creatures inquisitiveness. These cats were indeed strange. After a moment, he realized that he was no longer kneeling before the remarkable girl (who had just become in his eyes even more uncommon), because she hid behind him and clung to him like a burdock stuck to his coat. The Reaper raised his eyebrows and tracked her gaze to two purring creatures. Suddenly he came to the rather obvious conclusion.

"This is fine surprise indeed, my little missy is afraid of cats."

The girl huffed, but despite the annoyance, she hid behind him deeper.

"I'm no scared, I'm just ..." she fell silent, wondering what she should say to someone who, without any good reason, was digging up corpses. Should she tell him anything at all? All of sudden louder purr convinced her that she preferred the mad gravedigger to those diabolical creatures. "Da said that no one should trust cats." (A/N: Da = Dad)

"No one should trust them, huh?" Undertaker chewed his thumb wondering why anyone would trust the four-legged fur balls on the first place.

"How can ye trust someone wha is listening to neabody? And they have these big wary eyes ..."

At least with the previous had to agree. No matter how many times he had cast out cats from his shop after a while they still came back; especially in the winter when they had a habit of sneaking up and gnawing on his clients, not giving a shit about his supernatural person or an ordinary broom. Well, cats were cats, but their presence gave him a new possibilities.

"I'm sorry to say, missy, but it's terribly late and I have to be getting back," he stood up and wanted to move, but little hands wrapped themselves around his leg, stopping him. "Well, and what is this? Could it be that you are not afraid to approach a grave-digging former Grim Reaper, but you are anxious to be alone with two fluffy kittens?"

Only silence and one stiff nod answered him.

This time he could not stop a snigger escaping from his throat.

"In that case I have an offer," he made effective pause and continued trying to hide amusement echoing throughout his voice. "Being a very generous person, I thought I'd leave your friend's body here to rest. Or, I can take it, but in return I will get you back home, away from these big wary eyes. So, what do you think, my little missy? "

The girl thought for a moment and glanced at the body of little boy. His abdomen was swelled with greenish liquid, and the rest of the skin began to resemble a grey resin. She shuddered seeing a beetle coming out of his ear. She swallowed, leaned out and glanced at the cats, and then merely nodded to him. Undertaker laughed aloud, grabbed the boy's body and threw it over his shoulder. In the next moment, he turned around, picked up the living child, and hid her under the flaps of his coat.

The girl was evidently shocked, because instead of protests, from her lips escaped nothing more than surprised whimper. She grabbed him by the shirt and gritted her teeth, trying not to comment on the dangling chain of lockets that hit her in the nose. After a few steps, she felt that the man had bounced off the ground and jumped on the wagon. Then yanking the reins, he forced his horse to move off.

They rode in silence, which he broke when the cemetery disappeared behind a hill. Chuckling he undid the buttons of his coat, showing a small head full of jet-black hair tucked into his chest.

"You really do not like them, do you? However, it seems that you like me very, very much. "

The girl blushed and, embarrassed, moved away from him, almost falling off the cart. As could be expected this only resulted in another peal of laughter.

"You're a strange one, little missy."

"Look wha's talking," she stuttered, trying to fight the flush that clearly decided to stay on her cheeks permanently. Out of the blue the calls of an owl gained her attention. "It's getting late. I will better get off here."

Undertaker looked around, but seeing nothing but forests, moors and gloomy lake stretching into the distance he turned to his little passenger.

"Are you sure?"

"Ay, I'm sure!"

He drew the reins, stopping the wagon. Seeing her righteous indignation he could not stop giggling and ruffled her hair, from which she huffed even more. The girl pulled up her skirt and jumped straight into a big puddle, which was, however, far less important than gaining distance from him. She bit her teeth and headed forward through the mud.

Unable to stop himself, he moved the wagon forward, neither surpassing her nor staying behind. The girl, however, decidedly ignored him. But after five minutes of dreadful silence she could stand it no longer.

"What do ye want?!"

"Me?" he asked blinking with feigned innocence. "What could I want?"

"I don't know, that's exactly why I'm asking! Could ye just stop playing total bawheed? I cannot stand all this havering anymore."

It was too much. He roared with laughter rolling from the left to the right and again to the left. The girl clenched her fists and walked away in the opposite direction. Undertaker, hearing retreating footsteps, finally stopped and turned to the departing girl.

"Hey, little missy, at least tell me your name!"

The girl stopped and shaking with anger turned to him one last time.

"It's nane of yer business!" she screamed causing another peal of laughter. When Undertaker calmed down, the girl was gone. With two fingers he rubbed sore corners of his mouth. He could not remember the last time when he laughed so much.

Ω

Even now, after all these years, he giggled thinking about that day. He rubbed his hands, and barely controlling excitement, sneaked up to her and looked over her shoulder.

"It's good to see you again, my little missy."

* * *

 **So, my ever-first attempt at Black Bulter fic. I hope you like it ^^ The next chapters will be in much darker mood.**


	2. Lives and lies

Chapter two - Lives and lies

Undertaker snatched documents from petrified girl and leafed through them looking for an answer to the question that had been bothering him from the beginning. Much to his barely concealed delight, he finally found it.

"Evelyn Douglas, eh? So, this is name of my little missy!"

Reaper glanced up from the papers and this time he froze. The woman stood behind the chair, holding its backrest so if necessary she could swing at him. She had at the same time so serious an expression, as if she actually believed that she could hurt him.

"Could you be so kind as to enlighten me, what do you plan on doing with that?" he asked, trying to prevent incoming waves of mirth.

"Do not come any closer or I swear, I'll bash your head into pieces." The threat would probably be a lot more frightening if her voice stopped trembling and she was not slowly backing away toward the exit, dragging with her the potential weapon, which on a daily basis part of the furniture.

The girl did not know when or how, but in the next moment, rather than holding the chair she was sitting on it and staring at the grinning teeth of mad reaper, who leaned over her, blocking any attempt of escape.

"Well ..." he began slowly, savoring her growing panic. "It looks like I'll have to thank Vincent."

Hearing his words the terror on her face turned into a picture of total imbecility.

"Say what?" she asked before she could think that getting into conversation with him was not one of her best ideas.

"Earl Phantomhive recently mentioned to me that his sister in law asked him for a favor. I didn't think that you will be this favor," the man smirked, seeing that his explanation created only more questions. "Really, you thought that Lady Dalles could convince the director of the hospital to employ another woman? Aside from the Queen's Guard Dog, few people could prevail upon Osbert anything at all, not to mention something like that. Especially now, when his position is threatened."

Evelyn had to admit that it explained a lot. Doctor Dalles was not especially popular in the hospital, especially among the medical circle that - except from her - was consisted wholly of men. Nevertheless, even they were much more accepting than the director of the facility, Sir Basil Osbert, who - from the lack of a better term - was excellent example of bigotry, and total arsehole. So, she owed everything to Earl Phantomhive, but...

"What do you mean by the Queen's Guard Dog?"

Undertaker grinned widely.

"You want so many answers and yet you gave me so little in return," he began to egg her on, but seeing her quiver with annoyance, pursed lips he once again turned into a giggling mess. "You're lucky I know how endearing you are and that I can safely give you a loan."

The young doctor snuggled into the chair, when Undertaker leaned over her even harder, but after fraction of a second he straightened up and sat down on the desk.

"Earl Phantomhive is the one who sniffs out those who violate the commandments of the British Underworld and disposes of them. The Watchdog of the Queen. The Villainous Noble. The Aristocrat of Evil, etc. You catch the drift?"

Evelyn only nodded, trying to absorb all the new information and imagine Madam Red as part of the British underworld. In the meanwhile the Undertaker pondered something tapping his chin.

"The true question is not how, but why are you here? Someone with your abilities completely surrounded by death. It is rather unexpected. "

Evelyn nervously bit her lower lip.

"Seeing upcoming death, I know when not to waste time trying to save someone, and then I can take care of those who have a chance."

"But what if the grim reaper is there, because someone dies precisely for the reason that you will not waste time on him? What then?" Undertaker said in an unusually detached and controlled voice.

The girl held her breath and flushed; it was not known whether she did so out of rage or lack of air. His words felt like punch in the guts.

"Ye're the fudest, most hame-drauchtit, atrocious excuise for spiritual being in this or ony ither plane," she hissed, not paying attention to the fact that under stress she had flipped to her native dialect. "A don't want to hear aneof yer theological paradoxes. Fair oot, the day A don't care hou fate works."

Undertaker could no longer bear it. It has been years since anyone dared to chide him. This righteous indignation was still in her. He began to laugh so hard that he threw off papers from the desk, what of course only intensified her infuriation. She shifted in her seat like a crow fluffing out its wings. The only thing she was missing was the pissed-off caw. His attack of hysteria, however, was so long that before it was over, she already managed to calm down a bit. She knew that if she continued to make him laugh, she would never get rid of him.

"And what are you doing here?" she asked when he finally controlled himself.

"I came for the bodies, what else?" he answered, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

"Wait a second, are you trying to tell me that the real grim reaper works as a regular underta..." she paused, remembering corpses which he took years before from the village. "What are you doing with all these bodies? You don't eat them, do you? "

With this burst of laughter not the documents, but Undertaker himself dropped from the desk, remembering that gravitation works also for grim reapers, at least sometimes. Right then Hortensia Gambol, head nurse and the worst of all plagues known to mankind, entered the room. To say that the sight of a rolling-on-the-floor-laughing freak of an undertaker, a blushing young doctor, and unloaded-and-lying-on-the-floor corpses led her out of balance was an understatement of the century. One of her heavy brows slanted in strong disapproval. Nevertheless, that was just the beginning.

Evelyn had seen the entrance of the old hetaera, (whom she tried to avoid at all costs), and rolled her eyes skyward with a silent get-me-out-of-this expression. It definitely was not her day.

Ω

Days and weeks passed one by one. Patients came and went; sometimes on their own feet, and at other times they were taken by the ever-giggling Undertaker. After their first meeting, Evelyn was permanently assigned to transfer of the remains, of course, at the request of a known person. Every visit of the man proceeded similarly. One interested party remained silent, and the second even more stubbornly tried to force the first to speak, at the same time laughing like a mad hyena.

His unusual liking of her was not affecting well on the image of a young lady among her co-workers. She was not a spoiled, rich missy anymore. Now she was also wacky. She thought that it was what people had in mind when saying "guilty by association."

Evelyn took the wrist of boy sleeping in his mother's arms to examine his pulse. It was the first baby she had delivered alone. Doctor Dalles had not show up at work today, so the girl automatically took over all of her typically female cases. All was well until the woman had been brought in. During premature labor contractions ceased, which required a caesarean section. When Evelyn realized what she had to do, she almost fainted. Until recently, nearly every procedure like this ended with the death of mother, but thanks to the new method of the Italian physician Eduardo Porro, only sixty percent of the cases were fatal.

To date, she did not know exactly how she carried out the surgery. In one moment, she asked the nurse for a scalpel and in the second the child was in her arms; a motionless, barely breathing child. The little boy was born over nine weeks early, which greatly decreased his chances, but Evelyn hoped that he would succeed. She wanted it more than ever in exactly at such moments, looking at the mother, whose face exploded into this radiant smile and her green eyes shone like the sun. The doctor's insides melted. She was the one that put that look there. This moment was special and she did not want to let it go. It was really a great feeling. At least until she turned back to the door.

Standing there was a young, blond man. No one seeing him would tell that there was something wrong with him; the only problem was that no one but her could see him.

Evelyn lowered her eyes. It was not her business. She finished her shift ten minutes ago, besides, what else could she do? She marched forward, not looking up at the dark suit, the glasses, nor the disturbing looking device that the reaper was pushing. She passed him, and he did not even look at her, exactly as she wanted. None of them must know that she could see them - it was too dangerous.

The woman did not stop until she came outside. Again it was raining, but she had not even thought about unfolding an umbrella. Besides, a transport was already waiting for her by the gate. She walked only a few meters, but it was enough to be soaked to the bone. The inside of the old carriage stank with leather paste polish and soap, but Evelyn did not notice any of these. Only one thing was on her mind.

There had been a couple of times when she had seen the grim reapers at work. The images they extracted from dying people, their memories or rather - as Undertaker called them – the cinematic records. She wondered how they must look when taken from someone so young. They were probably filled with old white ceilings, new electrical lamps, and a few recurring faces. One of which belonged to her.

Ω

The brewing storm transformed the night into an even darker, more sinister hue of pitch black, lending it a frightening and menacing feel. The downpour of rain was strong and constant, coming down in continuous strings that glowed eerily every time bolt of electricity flared up from within the stormy, evilly churning clouds.

The pleasant scent of fresh Applewood coiled softly in the shadowy room, brushing past the senses of a woman sitting silently by the window. Finally, her restless gaze settled on the bright flames. The soft crackling of burned wood slowly replaced the constant turmoil outside, hushing it to comfortable deadness.

Creaking door interrupted the idyll night. An elderly maid in nightgown slipped into the room, illuminating her way with small oil lamp, however, her entrance seemed not to draw attention of pensive young woman.

"Miss Douglas?" the maid came closer and patted the girl on her blanket covered shoulder.

"Yes, Margery, what is it?" Evelyn drawled out tiredly. In fact, the way she had said it seemed to the maid as if her young miss did not really want to know.

"Excuse me, miss, but a man is calling. He didn't want to introduce himself, but demands to talk with you."

The look Evelyn gave her at that very moment shocked her, nearly causing her beating heart to jerk to a halt in her chest. It was the same look she had seen when Margery had met her the first time. It was a completely stern, empty look but there was a strange flickering light behind those pale, cold eyes, a brief turmoil, a craving need, a war of emotions against reason, like she had something important to tell her, to anyone, something everyone needed to know yet no one could ever find out.

Then the light from her eyes was gone once more, frozen and replaced by a veil of carefully guarded, thick blankness and determination, just like now. It had been the first time Margery could have sworn that her miss was on the brink of crying. Yet she never did, at least not on the outside, just like now.

The tormented eyes lingered on Margery's soft gaze before Evelyn swallowed and reluctantly stood up. She took the lamp from the maid and scattering roosting in the corridor shadows, went downstairs. Barefooted on the cold hardwood floor, Evelyn shivered as she walked across the room and, not noticing the carpet, tripped over it and slammed into the floor. Miraculously, the lamp was not shattered, but the light went out, plunging all into impenetrable darkness. She pulled her eyes shut tight and gritted her teeth, willing the pain in her knees to go away; willing herself to calm down, stand up and answer that damn phone. Who, on earth, had the nerve to call people at three in the morning?

She did it all, at the same time growling like a bloodthirsty demonic hound.

"Whoever you are and whatever you want, go to hell!"

Listening to the man on the other side of the wire her expression hardened, morphing into rigidness that tried hard to push out the emotions stirring inside. Her shaky hand moved as if on its own accord to ruffle tresses of black hair in a nervous tic. After the caller hung up, she could only sigh.

"Margery, wake Jonathan, I need to get to the hospital!"

Ω

With every passing second, she felt the stronger need to end his wild stride through the deserted hallways of the hospital and slap him senseless.

"You want me to do what?" she asked again, trying to catch her breath. The young woman could not believe the words flying out from Osbert's mouth. "I can't do it. I have never done it before and I don't know how!

"Flaubert has no phone, Ericson is visiting his family outside London and nobody knows where your charming supervisor is so there's no one else," Osbert stopped in front of the door to the operative room and furrowed unnaturally bushy brows with pure distaste. "Believe me, I don't like it even more than you do."

She started to boil, inwardly. Feeling a lot warmer inside from blooming anger, Evelyn gave it all she had and walked through the door. On the other side waiting for her was a creepy-looking group of men, one of which was squirming and screaming on a table, but more importantly, he was profusely bleeding. Everything about them from the expensive suits and the smell of tobacco, to the handguns, screamed only one word: mafia.

Evelyn was not as ignorant as before. Especially due to the Undertaker and his big mouth. She knew that Osbert, her familiar reaper, and several criminals had common business under the leadership of the Earl Phantomhive. He was trying to bring order through the use of controlled chaos. Not everyone liked it. Even in the hospital, a large part of the doctors was in opposition to this so-called Aristocracy of Evil. There were talks of firing Osbert, about the end of the rule of Vincent Phantomhive, and about finally bringing the new order. Nobody knew who started these promptings and to whose ears they were directed, but one could hear them all over the city, as long as he knew what to listen for.

Undertaker told her that this was nothing new, because at all times every action caused a reaction, and there would always be those who, thanks to this rule, want to rise to the top. The only difference was that this time the promptings focused mainly on the hospital director and his deviant methods. After all, the employment of women as doctors was blasphemy against the law of nature.

Thus, contrary to her will Evelyn was involved in a game of power and considered as one of the few physicians, whom the director could trust. Of course, Osbert would sooner castrate himself than admit it, but it did not change the facts. Just like her reluctance did not change the fact that she had to prepare to the surgery.

"I'll need a nurse," she whispered to the resentful man.

"Absolutely not," he protested so violently that a few drops of saliva flew out of his mouth. "You see the man in the flat cap? He's the head of the Ferro family. The patient is his nephew Azzurro Vanel. Do you think that if you fail he will allow us to get out of here alive?"

"I cannot do it alone," she repeated.

"Then I will assist you!"

"What's with all this commotion, Osbert, where is the surgeon?"

The director, who on a daily basis was as unshakable as a wall, went pale and began to sweat hearing the raspy Italian voice.

"At night, we suffer from a lack of personnel. This is Dr. Douglas, she is here on Vincent recommendation. She will carry out the surgery."

"There is no fucking way that…"

"She will only assist me."

Evelyn wanted to cry out loud seeing the plump doctor with the thick mustache who had just entered the room. That seemed to calm down the Ferro.

"Vincent's whore or not, she better not get too familiar with my Azzurro if she don't want to find herself swimming in sewage," threatened the gangster. "One more thing: If he loses the leg I will personally shoot all three of you in the fucking face."

Osbert only nodded and led physicians out of the room so they could scrub and start what could possibly be their last surgery.

Ω

Seeing state of the leg, Evelyn thanked the heavens that the family of Dr. Ericson was so terrible that the man did not want to argue with or deal with them on their vacation and had simply run away from them. If she had been alone in this, she could have as well already shot herself. The girl had never before seen something like this. The bullet was lodged in the tunica, and that was the only reason he had not bled to death long ago. She was not even sure if they could save the man, not speaking about his leg. There was a moment when she thought they would need to take the leg off because it started showing signs of necrosis. They could not get the broken bones to set, their sharp ends preventing secure connection.

For a moment, Evelyn looked away from the patient to glance at the men present in the room. When she saw a tall, young, bright-eyed brunet wearing glasses and a neat suit her throat dried.

"Sir, exactly how many of these thugs are here?" she asked. The main problem with the reapers lay in the fact she could not tell them apart from ordinary people.

"Together with our dear unconscious friend here, seven, but I guarantee you that even one could easily shoot us like sitting ducks."

The girl almost collapsed. She also saw seven men, so none of them was a harbinger of death. They would live, at least for now.

Ω

The sun rose and shone, warming up the damp ground only to be swallowed up by the fog that so relentlessly claimed its dominance over this land when Evelyn came into Osbert's office. She went to change her clothes which were grimy with blood, while Ericson spoke with the director about events of the past night. Now it was her turn.

The girl passed the surgeon at the door, but no wasting too much time on pleasantries he only tipped his hat and left the room, leaving her alone with the man leaned over his desk.

"I need to tell you something, so be so nice and don't interrupt." Osbert's face was rigid, unreadable as he spoke in his habitual unrushed manner, turning his head to stare passively at the table. "From the beginning I was opposed to letting women into my hospital. You know, I have done it only because of Phantomhive, but it is enough," he looked at her as if to strangle her on the spot. "I do not care which one of you actually sucks Earl's cock. If Dalles won't come back to work, and you cannot know where to find her, both of you are finished here. She goes, you go. Do you understand?"

"But…" her cry of desperation fought its way to daylight in the form of a strangled growl.

The man struck the desk, immediately silencing her. Then he calmly continued.

"She is continuing to experience the trauma." It was a half question trailing off as a half assumption.

"Mister Osbert, Madam Red lost the baby and her husband. I have the impression that, given the circumstances, she's coping quite well."

"Maybe she is doing well as a woman, but not as a doctor. This is your last chance, Douglas. From now on, you're responsible for baroness Dalles."

Ω

Over the next few days, Evelyn tried to find out where Madame Red was disappearing after her shifts. So far, the only clue were the words of one nurse, who several times on her way home, saw Dr. Dalles' carriage. The strange thing was that every time it headed to the East End.

Today, the girl specifically came out earlier from the work and dismissed Jonathan to be able to follow Madam. She did not have to wait long. The woman in red left the hospital smiling to the whole world and, with the usual spring in her step, jumped into the carriage.

When it left the girl jumped out from behind a corner taking off in an amazing speed to one of the cabs standing near the hospital.

"After the carriage pulled by two palamino horses," she instructed a coachman.

The old man moved without a word. It was London and he had lived here since birth. He had seen stranger things than young women tracking their fiancés. He was silent until he saw the carriage, which they were going after, stopped in the worst part of town.

"This is not a safe place, miss," he warned. "Nothing good you will find here. If the boy ventures in these areas, he'll bring you nothing but trouble. It's better to look for another man, someone decent."

She did not fancy sneaking around the docks, but seeing a figure getting out of the carriage, she had to follow it. Evelyn paid the man and asked him to wait for her. He, however, refused and after warning her one last time, drove off.

Anxious light blue eyes watched the flourish of a crimson coat as Madam Red left the main road into the night-shrouded side streets. The girl's soft leather shoes touched the deserted cobbled streets, heading towards the river. The scent of burning wood snaked its way through the narrow streets, ash descending from the legion of chimneys standing guard on the rooftops of old buildings. The erratic pattern of the fresh footsteps was almost too easy to follow in the thin layer of snow.

Evelyn crept up behind Dr. Dalles, hiding in the shadows of the narrow, forgotten-by-God-and-police streets. She knelt behind abandoned, wooden crates watching as her target entered the door leading to the basement of one of the riverside houses. A wave of goose bumps flashed across her skin as her eyes fell upon a man that strode over the dark alley towards her. She quickly ducked behind one of other crates, heart racing in a frenzy of someone fearing untimely discovery. The thudding in her chest turned loud as the man passed a mere meter away from her, she was convinced that he would hear it. Nevertheless, he soon moved away from her and without a single pause or suspicion disappeared around the corner.

All this did not help her decide what to do now. She could not just sit there and wait for the Madam. The seconds that already passed filled her mind with angered determination to unravel the mystery that put her on sharp edge ever since the older woman had vanished underground.

'Enough of this nonsense,' she thought, and in one swift stride she passed the street, found the latch, and made her way down into the barely lit stairway leading down. She came into a long, low room, thick with the brown of opium smoke, and terraced with wooden berths. Through the gloom, she could catch a glimpse of bodies lying in strange poses; head thrown back, pointed upward, bent knees. Out of the black shadows glimmered little red circles of light, some bright, others faint as the burning poison waxed or waned in the bowls of the metal pipes.

As she entered on opium den, a pretty, short Asian in skimpy clothes had hurried up to her with a pipe and supply of the drug, beckoning her to an empty berth.

"I'm not here for a fix," she protested, searching with her eyes sings of red in the shadows. "I'm looking for a friend."

Short woman's face twisted in a grimace bordering between innocent, yet lecherous smile, after which she took Evelyn by the arm and led her across the room, through the curtained door passing into the second chamber. This room was different. Besides fragrance of opium one could also smell stimulating the senses, exotic incenses. Red lanterns gave an intimate light gently flowing to the spaces separated by panels, behind which came the sounds of intertwined bodies and moans of pleasure.

Evelyn closed her eyes. This was not just an opium den, but also a brothel. She could not, or rather did not want to understand what Madam Red was doing in such place. Lost in thought she almost did not notice that her guide stopped.

"Choose which friend" she offered, pointing to several women sitting, or lying on huge pillows. All were from Asia, probably from China, but besides that and their unquestionable beauty, they had nothing in common. Some were slim, others more plump. There were brunettes, but also dyed blondes and redheads. Several were fully grown-up, but a few could not been older than thirteen. Nevertheless, they all had similar clothes showing a lot of skin, especially in area of legs and chest.

"Choose." she repeated firmly.

"I'm afraid there has been a mistake. I do not seek this kind of friend," she explained cautiously, not wanting to get into unnecessary trouble.

"Finding someone, especially a friend, is a real challenge. However, what if that friend does not want to be found, do you still should seek them, or just respect their decision?"

Evelyn turned around scared out of her wits. Behind her stood a man in a kimono, holding the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. The Asian couple was extremely peculiar. The woman looked like an empty, porcelain doll, while the man with closed eyes and a mysterious smirk resembled a fox.

"Beautiful, ambitious young flower ventured into the darkness of hell to find their support, which fell into a shadow of despair," he continued cryptically. "But it takes only one careless step and the flower will be trampled. Hell is not a good place for delicate, little plants."

"Where is she?" demanded the girl. No matter how to look at it; she and Lady Dalles were protected by the Phantomhive family and every offender would think twice before he would try to hurt them.

"Where is who?" he asked politely.

"What do you mean by whom? She, of course."

"But who do you mean by she and who are you?"

Evelyn clenched her teeth. This clown was muddling up her head.

"You want to tell me that you don't know who I am and why I'm here?"

"Exactly," Chinaman was glad they had reached an agreement.

"But…" the girl groaned, but said nothing more. As her grandmother had said, "No matter how stupid and vulgar people are, there always is a place for good manners." According to this principle, a young doctor curtseyed. "I am Evelyn Douglas, a friend of doctor Dalles and I'm looking for her."

The man bowed back.

"Lau, from Shanghai trading company Kong-Rong and this is Ran Mao," he introduced himself and the woman on his arm, then he pointed to one of the enclosed spaces. "There you will find Madam Red."

Evelyn did not lose more time and rushed to the indicated boudoir. Madam Red was lying there alone on a comfortable ottoman. She muttered to herself in a strange, low monotonous voice. Her monolog was coming out in gushes, and then suddenly tailing off into a silence.

"I suppose she comes here to forget," offered Lau, seeing her shock. "Sometimes you cannot do anything more."

"For how long has she come here?" the brunette asked, sitting down by Madam's side and examining her.

"She started two months ago," he replied, and then paused for a moment. "Normally I do not give information about my customers, but Madam Red has a close relationship with a very important person."

"I'm aware of it," she mumbled. "I thought she was doing it far longer than two months. At least so it looks."

"Opium helps to forget, get rid of the nightmares plaguing you in the endless nights, but in the day it's useless. Sometimes you need something else to help you keep going."

"You think she is taking something else?" the young woman did not wait for an answer. She rolled up Madam's sleeves searching for traces of injections. She did not find anything. But Lady Dalles was a clever woman. She would not risk that someone might discover her secrets. Evelyn took off stockings of the red-haired woman and began to inspect her legs. For some time blue eyes rested thoughtfully upon skin behind the knees and areas between the toes, all dotted and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks.

Lady Dalles, or rather, Dr. Dalles, had a free access to all sorts of medications, including cocaine. This explained her endless energy and good humor. Everyone thought that she had excellently coped with the tragedy, or was in the phase of suppression, but it was all just one big farce. Nothing more than a thick pack of lies. Lies which Evelyn's whole career depended on.

Ω

Madam Red opened her eyes. As usual, she saw an elegant navy blue pattern on the upholstery of the ceiling in Lau's carriage. However, gentle rocking of the carriage and picture of snow dancing outside did not reflect raging storm of feelings in her heart. She could never let Rachel see, allow her to understand, let her watch how she would crumble and fall to pieces.

Staring vacantly into the mid-distance, she finally noticed that she was not alone. She could not see the face of a woman sitting in front of her, but too many times she had seen the furry, dark blue coat, to not recognize it.

"What now, my dear little girl?" Madam asked, turning away from the younger woman.

"Whatever you want, I suppose." she replied in an unstrained tone.

"What? Nothing about how stupid I am, that I must stop, or that I need to attend rehab?" after a pause her voice was hesitant, accusing even. "Why aren't you telling me these things? Why aren't you screaming at me? Why aren't you nailing me to kingdom come with your sharp words?"

"Because you need sleep, Madam. Besides, I don't think rehab is a nice place and I'm afraid that where you go, I go; at least for now." her voice was suddenly smooth and chillingly soft with a sharp twist at the end.

The woman in red did not answer as she went sailing back to the land of dreams. Evelyn knew she should do something. She should tell Lady Phantomhive about her sister's problems and suggest sending her to a rehab. Nevertheless, she would not do it. If Madam Red left the hospital, she also would have to go. People were selfish creatures and so was she.

"You will not tell Rachel, right?" the older woman unexpectedly stammered, drifting on the edge of consciousness.

"No, but no more secrets. If you have bad day, you tell me. When you need a fix, you tell me. Understood?"

"Yes sir," she mumbled with sleepy salute. "They cannot know. Not Rachel and not Ciel. Especially Ciel. Do you know that my little boy's birthday is tomorrow? I bought him a beautiful jacket and plush doggie. Ciel loves dogs."

Those were Madam Red's last words that day, both because she fell asleep and because at that moment Big Ben struck midnight. The fourteenth of December began.

* * *

 **So much thanks to those who alerted/faved. I do hope you'll stick with this story as it develops. Thanks for reading and please do leave your thoughts, good or bad, it does help the muse a lot.**


	3. Those left behind

**Chapter three - Those left behind**

No day is just another ordinary day. Each of them is the beginning or end of something; someone's heaven or hell. For Evelyn this day was like a bad joke, and like everything else in hell, it was deadly serious.

The dark-haired woman closed her eyes and put her hands into a bowl of boiling water, hoping that the pain would allow her to get away. Nevertheless, when she opened her eyelids and saw in the water a reflection of red spots that soaked her apron, she knew the worst was still ahead of her. So far she had survived only a few hours of surgery that, against all odds, had not ended in total fiasco. Thus far she had only ruined her dress and her shoes, from which blood would squelch with every step. And to think that all of it started so inconspicuous.

At first Evelyn had thought that the elegant, old Asian man lying on the operation table had been an assaulted foreign dignitary, or a member of the triad, but the hushed whispers of nurses and Osbert's screams from behind the door were confirmation of something else. She was busy as a beaver assisting Dr. Ericson with the procedure, but in the onslaught of tasks and increasing noise the girl managed to catch two words: Phantomhive and annihilation. As it turned out, instead of her nephew's birthday party at the Earl estate, Madam Red found a wild inferno that had consumed literally everything. The only survivor seemed to have been old butler, who miraculously managed to crawl out.

Dark blood from her fingers danced in the water, the uncontrolled twitching of her muscles pulled its strings like an evil puppeteer, whirring and jerking it around in a sickly waltz of horrid shapes that could have been spawned by hell itself. Evelyn focused her moonstone eyes, looking sternly at the bloodied water that started to burn her skin. Staring vacantly into mid-distance, she finally pulled her hands out. A single, unstoppable tear cascaded down her cheek in desolate realization: she would not be able to decide her fate. Whoever killed the Earl and his family had stolen her career, her choices, and her future.

"I understand that the butler is still among living."

Evelyn pulled away from the table with startled wide eyes, shaky hands jostling the bowl that with a dull bang fell to the floor. The water spilled, completely soaking her shoes, as the bowl rolled to the feet of the Undertaker who was standing in the doorway. He, however, did not grin or burst out laughing at the sight of her failure this time. His expression was hardened, morphed into a rigidness that tried hard to push out the dark emotions stirring inside him

"Why? Why do you always have to do this?" she huffed in an agitated voice, still shaken from his sudden appearance and from the chill that had begun to claw at her skin. "You keep sneaking up like a freaking shadow."

"Well, "sneaking up" is in my nature. I was a grim reaper once, remember?" he spoke, growling darkly.

"It's rather hard thing to forget," she mumbled, rubbing her hands. "And yes, Mister Tanaka is alive at least for now. Nevertheless, I'm not sure if he will survive, and even then I don't think he will ever fully recover. I suppose that a police want to question him?"

"Indeed, they're at the door like a group of vultures waiting for a piece of carrion."

"I am sure that's more out of concern for their careers than a sense of justice," she pointed out.

"Rather out of fear," he corrected ominously, and with his every word the bump of anxiety in her throat grew dangerously. "The death of the Phantomhives will affect not only the underworld, but also the lives of ordinary people. Inferior criminals will not feel a major force above them. No longer will they hide in a shadows. They will act in light of day, itching for more and more, not caring about the balance. Organized groups will fight for territory and influence; streets will flow with the blood of the innocent and criminals alike. There will be panic among ordinary people and traders. Prices will rise, further heightening the tension. London will become a battleground, the likes of which the city has not seen in decades. "

Listening to him, Evelyn did not notice the Undertaker begin to move. When he had finished speaking, he was already at her fingertips, in which he put a small, dark box.

"You should take care of yourself, my little missy. The world just got even more dangerous than before. "

Ω

Undertaker was right. Actually, it was strange how often the perpetually grinning lunatic usually was. With ensuing chaos, even the weather seemed to dance in one rhythm, like the flood of raindrops falling in the few last days from the sky. Drains choked up, constantly spewing silt, mud, dead rats, dogs, and any other gook anybody was able to think of. In those days, the world seemed to push on top all of the junk that people wanted to destroy or forget. White fluff, which at this time of year usually tried to hide omnipresent London filth, did not even try to appear, rightly assuming that in the end it will only help reveal more layers of grime.

A pair of horses pulling a posh carriage through flooded street stopped near a forged iron gate leading to the old town house, where hunched figure with a towel was already waiting at the door. The distance from the carriage to the building was not large, but it was enough for Evelyn to become completely wet. Water dripped down from her hair as she crossed the threshold. When Margery caught her with a towel, she just stood on the cold floor, shivering, replaying in her mind all terrible images from the past few days. She let the maid lead her to her bedroom and dress her in dry clothes like mindless porcelain doll. Then she finally was left alone.

Completely still, after unmoving for what seemed like an eternity, Evelyn finally didn't feel the chills, didn't see the horrors, and didn't hear the dark cries of pain. She observed her surroundings, eyes flickering from one side of the room to the other, until they encountered the small box that Undertaker had given her a week ago. It was not truly her's to have, but she could not bring herself to give it back, at least not yet.

The young woman took out something from her purse and walked out into the hallway, heading for one of the guest rooms. Before the room which she was interested was a small trolley with an untouched silver tray of dinner. Evelyn passed it with a sigh and knocked on the door, but did not wait for a reply. The bedroom door swung open, soft slippers moved silently on a polished chestnut floor as a scent of smoke and musty air swept through the barely lit room. She sat down on the bed as her pale moonstone eyes drifted to the side, stopping absently on a completely covered form.

"You should eat something."

Only silence answered her, but she had not been expecting anything else. For the last week that she hosted Madam Red (though perhaps "hidden" would be a better word) the woman had said next to nothing. Lady Dalles own house was being constantly guarded by Yard, but that did not stop the three attacks aimed at the Phantomhive relative. So far Evelyn remained unnoticed by Phantomhive's opponents, taken more as a curiosity and a whore of the deceased Earl than one of the major players, and she was immensely grateful for it.

"You know that you need to gather more strength for tomorrow," she tried again, but with the same result. The young doctor became concerned seeing that the sheets were not moving up and down to the rhythm of breath.

"Madam?" she asked frantically with unease. Her agitation grew when she found that the figure lying on the bed was in fact nothing more than few rolled up blankets and stacked pillows. "Dr. Dalles, this isn't funny."

"No, it is not," purled little voice from the floor on the other side of the bed.

The girl hearing it rolled over the bed, wanting to make sure that the red-haired female really was there. Seeing the usually elegant woman huddled in a corner in a nightgown, Evelyn sighed with relief, despite the pathetic scene before her.

"Truly, Madam, please don't scare me like that again. I was afraid you had disappeared."

"And where could I walk off to? You know as well as I that I have no place to go. No one can see me like this, even you shouldn't." Madam Red looked bitterly at a white wall as she sunk further into the shadows. She could not understand why she was so weak. She had tried to be stronger, to stop this madness, this sickness of mind and body but each time it turned fruitless. With every failure, it proved even harder to fight the desperation, the endless whispers, the insufferable weight of the overwhelming darkness that always followed. The voices, the ever present sinister voices, fabricated by depths of her own wavering mind, whispering, shouting, telling her to give up this hopeless struggle, urging to let go, amused by her useless resolve, her shattered will to go on, pointless refusal to accept the inevitable fate.

"How, how could you have handled it, the death of your parents?"

"True be told, I don't know," Evelyn responded sincerely. "It was different, you know, without the noise, or the headlines, or the overwhelming chaos. In one moment they simply disappeared, leaving only me behind. It was ill fate, nothing more. "

"But how…" her voice broke, chocolate eyes would well up with tears if not for a hand that suddenly appeared on her shoulder.

"You will attend the funeral, and bid them farewell. You will mourn, and then you will continue with your life. Sometimes the reality of their absence will hit you like a blow to the gut and you will cry. However, this will happen less and less as time goes on. They are dead and you are alive. You can do nothing more." Evelyn voice was detached, her eyes dark and hollow like depths of the Arctic ocean.

The girl stretched out her other hand in which was hidden a small package wrapped in brown paper.

"On the way home I stopped at Lau. You have to schedule the doses in a more reasonable manner. Opium is getting harder to get, and Lau doesn't know how long he will remain in business; he doesn't even know who will be his boss tomorrow morning."

The older woman greedily grabbed the package, tearing the paper with trembling from excitement fingers.

"Thank God, but ..." she paused, wondering for a moment if she should say aloud what really bothered her. On the other hand, what she had to lose? Miss Douglas was well aware of the wreck of human being that her mentor was, and yet she accepted it. Madam Red did not know why and prefered not to wonder about it for too long. For now, she had an ally in the young woman, which was more than could be said about anyone else. "What will happen tomorrow? I can't..."

Madam fell silent seeing two small vials of the drug, which almost immediately disappeared into Evelyn pocket.

"I'll give it to you tomorrow morning before I go on my shift."

The words of the black-haired girl drew her attention more than the sight of her liquid salvation.

"You will not be at the funeral?"

"I'm sorry, but I doubt it. In the current situation, all available doctors are needed in the hospital." She apologised as she was getting up and walking to the door. Evelyn wanted to leave, but was stopped by her name spoken by the chewed lips of her guest.

"After tomorrow, when it's all over, I'll try to pull myself together. Do you think I can do it?" The hope in her words was almost inaudible. It was as if she already knew the answer, and only wanted to be sure.

"No, you cannot," Evelyn replied, summoning to the older woman's cheek a single tear. "Not alone. A while ago, I read in a medical journal about a new method of addictions treatment. Apparently, the results are very promising. I'm sure we can arrange it quietly. And please," she added, "don't thank me."

Ω

The day came after a sour night of bright flashes crackling across the dark sky and the rumble of thunder plundering the silence. Evelyn jumped a puddle heading to the side, where amongst a group of ancient, magnificent oak trees, stood small but very well kept church, from which two coffins were being led out. They were followed by a procession of people in black, elegant, richly ornate and completely not matched for the mood of a funeral clothes. Ladies in muslins and silks gathered in small packs, quietly sharing their observations and scandalous speculations. Gentlemen were following their example, being at the same time a little more discreet.

Evelyn leaned against one of the oaks. Her scornful sneer betrayed her frail opinion of these self-proclaimed mourners. Each of them wore a mask showing pain, anguish or at least sadness. However, most of them did not actually care about the lost lives. It was simply another social event - one of those from which it did not seem right to be absent. Everyone who was somebody in society was here. And only the most important, the chosen ones, had the right to go to the ruins of Phantomhives estate where the bodies were to be buried.

Looking at Madam Red, raven-haired girl thought that the lack of the third grave was nothing more than unnecessary cruelty. The boy's body was not found, and although Undertaker was quite restrained in sentencing that the child was burned along with the rest of the household, Evelyn did not believe that a small Ciel might be found, and even if that could happen, she doubted that he would be the same sweet kid.

Unwanted thoughts began to flow into her head. She looked down at cuffs of her dress tinged with red. Five hours ago, in front of a bakery, an eight-year-old boy was shot. Two hours ago, they operated him. His chances were fifty-fifty and even she could not predict his fate because recently, she saw grim reapers at almost every corner of the hospital. They win some, they lose some - that's what it was all about, no promises, no guarantees of survival, no saints in surgical garbs. Their willingness, their experiences, their technique were not enough. Knives, guns and people that wielded them had more power to take lives than doctors had to preserve them.  
When she looked up, to her surprise her eyes fell upon a small, blond girl. She was like a brilliant diamond, completely out of place. There was an air of sorrow and vulnerability around the girl, which made Evelyn feel the kid was not like the others, as they would never care for anyone or anything else apart from keeping their false image intact, at any price.

"Miss Douglas," it was said so tenderly she almost thought it came from some angel. "Aunt Ann wants to ask if you would like to join her in the carriage on the way to the cemetery?"

For a second her thoughts strayed to the possibility, but she disregarded them momentarily.

"I'm afraid I cannot. I must go back to the hospital." she paused and handed her a package. "Could you give this to Doctor Dalles for me? And apologize to her on my behalf. I should have given it to her at the beginning but… just give it to her."

Ω

Sometime later, Madam Red opened the package. She found in it a tiny box hiding the gold signet ring of Phantomhive family, and a copy of the Boston Medical and Surgical Journal, which described new, miraculous medicine that was helping to, among other things, soothe the symptoms of cocaine withdrawal.

Her eyes lit up with excitement.

"Heroin, interesting…"

* * *

 **A/N: Little explanation: At the beginning, a heroin really was considered a wonder drug, because apparently it didn't resulted in physical dependence. Admittedly it has been widely used a couple of years later than when the story take place in Kuroshitsuji, but hush, no nit-picking.**


	4. The man in black

Chapter four - The man in black

"Have you read that horrible article in today's paper?" croaked a young woman's voice through the hospital corridor.

"Which one? They write only about shootings, killings and arsons. One might think that they would eventually get bored but no, everyday of entire month it's the same. Really, if this goes on, they will replace even the culinary column with an obituary. "

One of the nurses, Molly, opened a rolled-up newspaper tucked under her arm on the fifth page and showed her friend the interesting article. The shorter woman read it in silence, and then, only clicked her tongue.

"And what end could be expected for a woman of her kind? They shouldn't write about it at all. It triggers only an unnecessary scandal, reminding the decent people that such unsavory element exists. "

"You're probably right, but it still frightens me. Apparently, she was massacred beyond recognition. Not that anyone give a rat's ass for these sinners, " the younger nurse added quickly, not wanting anyone to think that such delicate young lady as she, may be fascinated by similar macabre. "By the way, it is truly terrible that Baroness Dalles must spend time with them."

"The boss gave her a choice. You cannot blame him, that he was afraid to assign Dr. Dalles to her previous duties. After everything the woman went through she can easily miss something and hurt normal people. Someone has to deal with all that dirt that comes to us, and even if something happen to them, no one will care. "

"But why had Mister Osbert had to replace Dr. Dalles with Douglas? She is younger than me, not saying that she's from the north. To think not so long ago, my grandfather fought with the Scots, and now one of them is ordering me" she wailed.

The blonde clicked her tongue again upon hearing Molly's words, but this time more to illustrate her knowledge than dissatisfaction. Overall, for Prudence Nudget it was a universal sign that could show each of her thoughts and feelings.

"I prefer not to comment on her medical skills, because only God knows what is on the minds of these savages, besides a pile of hay, but Douglas is not only a doctor, but also a Lady. No gentleman will allow her to heal him, but many will prefer to risk the health of their wives with Dr. Douglas than their purity with other doctors" concluded Prudence.

"Mrs. Nudget, Miss Clarkson, I had no idea that besides fulfilling doctor orders, their evaluation also belong to your duties. To think that even a Northern savage as I learns something new every day. If I have any doubts about my profession I will certainly ask you for advice," without a warning Evelyn reassured them with mocking glee in her eyes at the same time giving them fright of their lifetime. „However I advise you not to waste your time waiting," she added coldly as she turned with a smile to a patient sitting in a wheelchair whose nurses should have been leading to his room.

"Mr. Tanaka, I assure you that you will be immediately taken to your room. Later I will come to see how you feel. Besides, a friend of mine gave me new samples of Chinese tea to try; I am sure that such an expert as you will be able to appreciate it," she said in a polite, slightly amused tone then made to leave without paying further attention to the hospital staff before they noticed how uncomfortable she was .

Before the raven-haired woman walked into another corridor, she turned for a moment to re-examine the two nurses who led Mr. Tanaka a few yards and then again plunged into gossiping.

To think it was enough to pick out a few phrases from the creek of irrelevant words to freeze her heart. Fortunately, nobody from the hospital personnel knew how to put them together to draw correct conclusions. Mrs. Nudget sagacity surprised her, but as far as no one accused the young doctor of persuading the director to transfer Dr. Dalles to the clinic for the poor, she had nothing to worry about. Madam Red was in much better shape than Evelyn previously assumed, but despite the effectiveness of the new therapy, the black-haired woman did not want to risk the health of lucrative patients entrusting their care to the Baroness. Although reluctantly Osbert admitted that she was right. Recalling his irked face a small pleasurable curl of her upper lip coincided with the loud male scream that echoed through the walls of the hospital.

The woman ran towards the noise; only to freeze and gape at the source- the old Japanese kneeling on the floor and holding a little boy with passion and strength, which she would never have suspected. Shocked, Evelyn tried to drag the child away, while the nurses attempted to put Mr. Tanaka back in a wheelchair. The little scuffle caused no small show, gathering a rather large crowd of onlookers. Even in the current mad times, women struggling with patients on floors of hospital corridors were not an everyday view. The boy wanting to escape from her grasp pulled her by her silky hair, causing a sharp hiss of pain.

"Calm down you little…" she felt like her mind was slipping, sending itself into a different realm, a place free from the crushing and maddening pull of horrible reality that grew in strength every day. Evelyn was somewhere else; where everything was how it should be. Her expression hardened, seeing a truly angelic face in front of her. The face, because of which the bedding in her guest room was constantly wet from tears. The boy's face who, according to all the rules of the universe, should be dead.

Suddenly a white-gloved hand that drew back the child came to the girl's aid, freeing her hair from the dreadful grip. Evelyn's head flounced painfully backwards jarring her neck, a reaction of her widening eyes falling upon the apparition revealed so suddenly before her. Its eyes were blessed with a color she had never seen before, it was unearthly, endless and dark, akin to a deep brown of the ancient trees at winter twilight mixed with the stirring red of burning fire. The eyes belonged to the most wonderful example of the male species she had a chance to watch. He was ... the only phrase that came to her mind was "unearthly beautiful". From fascination with standing in front of her a wonder of nature, Evelyn was snatched by the boy, who demanded to be released and judging by the tone of his voice, to be subject of nothing less than lifetime devotion.

The woman straightened up like electrocuted. She could not allow this little fool to bring danger upon them all.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Black. I see your son is still suffering from delusions," she spoke clearly in a snappy tone, her moonstone eyes never leaving the dulled burgundy ones. "Please follow me to the office. I will examine him immediately. Mrs. Nudget, please take Mr. Tanaka to the room and check his dressings. "

The black-haired doctor nodded discreetly to the old man and marched to her office not daring to look back. She had not heard following her steps. Actually, she heard nothing except the beating of her own heart that bounced off with a hollow echo in her head . At the end, Evelyn almost ran to the room, sitting painfully straight in a chair and snarling critically; the hard tone of her voice making clear that her tolerance of the world was now on a rather short timer.

"Wa me? Wa, damn it, it aye hae tae be me?" she hissed through clenched teeth but someone's voice was much more agitated than hers.

"Put me down, now! It's me you should listen to, not to some mad woman!"demanded the boy, who had just appeared in her field of vision carried by his tall companion.

"With all due respect, sir, I had the impression that the young lady wants only the best for you. Besides, she is a doctor and this is a hospital. Here her powers surpass yours, I am afraid." Nevertheless the man in black did what he was told.

"I don't care about your impressions! You have to obey me and only me!" The boy snapped with a note of irritation after a short, breathless pause.

"Yes, my lord, I assure you that it will not happen again."

The kid calmed down hearing the dark stranger and turned to the young woman, who had just lighted a cigarette with a martyr expression.

„I am…"

"I know who you are, Master Phantomhive" Evelyn kept her tone exhausted and monotone, the cigarette smoke reflecting in her unmoving eyes like shards of tattered dark shadows. The name of her guest was a whispered breath. "The only problem is that if anyone else finds out who you are, you will return to the world of the dead, and this time for good."

For more than a minute, the boy was clearly confused.

"I do not understand, my family ..."

"Is dead," she interrupted him once again, dusting off the cigarette on an ashtray as if she had just swept away his childish dreams with rough reality. „The Phantomhives are no more. Over the past weeks, the London underground fight each other for your family's influences. What do you think all of these criminals will do, when they learn that you're in fact alive? They'll kill you, and probably me too, just in case."

"I'm not afraid of them."

Evelyn blinked away the sudden urge to strangle something with her silently clenching hands, preferably something small and scrawny.

"Then you're just utterly stupid."

The boy's face was red with rage, giving his sunken cheeks unhealthy violet hue. He wanted to scream, but this time the man in black interrupted him, trying to be an extremely melodious voice of reason.

"Young master, bringing undue attention to yourself does not seem too advisable in the current situation. Maybe we should focus on finding your aunt? "

"Madam Red should be at home right now. Unfortunately cops or bandits or even better all of them at once are observing it all the time. You should meet with her on a neutral ground," suggested the woman releasing another withers of smoke from her nose.

"And as expected you want to provide us with it. If it is as you say, and everyone wants to kill me, why should I trust you, doctor? " Ciel kept his voice habitually civil but the line of his mouth tightened with growing irritation, eye slipping to look to his right at man clad in black. "I have other options."

"Then please, be my guest, sir, and go your own way. Just be so nice and close the door behind you!" She snapped, unable to keep her cool any longer; her pale blues barely missing the hardness and ice, peered at the worn out image of the small boy from Madam Red's photography. Now the eight year old appeared older by years. There was an alarming hollowness to his one visible eye that so starkly counteracted the beauty of his cherub face that still remained there.

"So I shall" the young lord regarded the dark haired doctor with distrust, his frustration turning into a throbbing ache that stabbed at his heart. "But first I need her address."

The woman huffed, grabbed a sheet of paper and started writing with feral wrath. Let all of these aristocracies and their dirty games be damned - she had had enough! Let Lady Dalles break down, let Osbert fire her, heck, let this spoiled brat be killed, why should she care? As a last resort, she always could enter into a partnership with the laughing, corpse-stealing madman, lay in a coffin and look forward to the end of her days in peace.

"I have one more question," said the boy, and Douglas hearing this made one enormous black blot on milky white paper. "What about my grandpa? Will he get better? "

"Your Grandpa? " Evelyn hissed out between clenched teeth, hinting that her patience had just run out or was wearing very thin.

Then she remembered. The tearful scream of fright, disbelieve and happiness, something that belonged to a little lost boy, and not to this annoying whippersnapper she wanted to strangle. The woman swallowed trying to soothe her nerves.

"Mr. Tanaka must remain in the hospital for a long time. His injuries were very serious, it's a miracle he lives at all. During the operation, I didn't think we would be able to save him. So no, he wont be alright. He has numerous burns and fractures especially in the ribcage. In addition, something punctured his lung and damaged his heart. If he hadn't crawled out on the cold, he would have bled to death. He will never be able to function normally. Nevertheless, he will live," she added, seeing how much stopping oncoming tears have cost him. Despise everything he was nothing more than a heartbroken kid. Evelyn cursed inwardly.

"You two should go and see Mr. Tanaka, he's in room two forty-five . Wait there for me. I finish my shift for half an hour and then I will take you to Madam Red."

Ω

Ciel was not convinced to the female in front of him. If not for Tanaka's assurance about her nature, he would not be sitting with Sebastian in her carriage, or going to her house where he was meeting Madam Red. Apparently, Lady Evelyn Douglas had a considerable debt to the former Lord Phantomhive. She knew one of his associates, and most importantly greatly helped Baroness Dalles pull herself back together after the tragedy, but Ciel still had his doubts. In the end, the young woman saw him as nothing more than a small child. On the other hand, it might turn out to be useful, provided she would not want to take care of him.

After all, women had something called maternal instinct therefore they melted over everything that was small and sweet, or so his father said to him once. Ciel, albeit reluctantly had to admit that he perfectly met the first condition. However, he did not know if he still had in himself even a shred of childish charm, because he certainly had no innocence left. It was brutally taken away from him but in return, he gained something else.

The boy's cobalt eye traversed up to become fixated on the demon seated peacefully next to him, closing in his strange dark eyes shimmer of late January sunlight. The devilish man caught his gaze and smiled in his kind but at the same time mocking way. His deadly perfect lips whispered to him darkly, daring him to say something, to show his broken, ugly face of a miserable child. As if in disobedience, Ciel looked back to the raven-haired woman, who also studied the demon.

"I know who our little lord is, but since I take you to my home, I would like to know who you are, mister..."

"My sincerest apologies, my lady, my name is Sebastian Michaelis and I am the Phantomhive butler," declared the man in black. His words were so melodious that they seemed to dance in human ears.

Evelyn glanced critically not so much at the smiling miracle on two legs, than at the pompous boy next to him. She preferred not to look directly into the handsome man's eyes, because she had not yet conquered the problem of severe physical attraction, which was unacceptable, especially for a woman of her status to a mere butler, no matter how sinfully stunning he was.

"Well then, I'm guessing you have to be new in this. Boyd, my uncle's butler, sooner would allow himself to be shot than let his master out of the house in such a state," she explained, seeing two questioning faces.

Ciel noticed how the woman wrinkled her nose at his clothes and physical state, wanted nothing more than command Sebastian to rip her apart. How could someone like she dare to judge him? The young woman could not even imagine what happened to him. How anyone could imagine such a thing? However, then they would have a much bigger problem finding his aunt, and compared to it Evelyn's presence was objectively smaller nuisance. None the less the nuisance in the unholy shape of a woman, the worst natural irritant on this damned world and a clear threat to upsetting the fragile balance of his already volatile mind.

The boy so long considered all the pros and cons of her total annihilation that he had not noticed when they arrived. A residence of the young doctor did not differ much from his family's town house. It was obviously less spacious, elegant and sophisticated, furthermore a wrinkled, elderly maid, who welcomed them at the door could never get into his mother's service, but besides that it was acceptable. Contrary to the fact that Dr. Douglas instructed to bring him lightly sweetened water instead of a tea. Had this woman even pondered when the last time was he had drank a cup? As if that was not enough, she brought them not to a living room but to an office and left unaccompanied, claiming that she had to talk to Madam Red in private before allowing them to meet.

Without blinking, his empty navy eye laced with delicate patterns of lighter blue at the edges watched with detached interest a large collection of scientific books and medical journals that filled the shelves. Another literature was practically absent, except for the top shelf in the corner, where forgotten stood a few volumes of classics, without no self-respecting British house could do.

The young Phantomhive could not focus on anything important, even on the inevitably approaching meeting with his aunt Ann. His heart was not pounding wildly wanting to get out of the chest, nor his thoughts chased in all directions at once. He was completely calm. Actually, he was too calm. The boy had not missed his relatives, no matter if he thought about Madam Red, Lizzy or Aunt Francis. His family was dead and few individuals who had the audacity to survive were no more important than strangers passed by on a street.

Ciel absently ran his finger along the ancient desk. Actually, it was not true. The boy was not indifferent to the rest of his relatives. In fact, he hated them. He hated that when his parents were killed Aunt Francis drank her nightly glass of brandy. He hated Lizzy because out of despair she could not swallow a spoonful of chocolate pudding while his hungry stomach was mingling with his spine. He hated Madam Red and the horrors that had haunted her in silk sheets, at the same time when he was being tortured.

Feeble fingers attempted to pierce the polished oak board, trying to repay to the world for an injustice that met him. The young Lord knew that his resentment was unfounded and completely out of place, but he did not give a shit. The only thing that was important to him and his desires stood silently at his side clad in black.

* * *

 **My usual heartfelt thanks to everyone who's read/reviewed/alerted, as well as to mrsmiawallace88. You guys all need to bow to her, because she keeps you all from reading the grammar crap I'd be posting if not for her help.**


	5. Forsaken Perfection

**Forsaken Perfection**

She was truly an idiot of king's calibre.

Someone could say there were some circumstances justifying the previous statement. For example: there is no denying that the raven-haired doctor was shocked by the presence of young Lord Phantomhive and horrified by a vision of an army of thugs lurking in the shadows. Not to mention the rather unpleasant possibility of relapse of Madame Red's depression if the meeting with her nephew would not have been successful, thus return to the drugs and being fired from the hospital and by the way ending Dr. Douglas most important thing – her career. It was not about Evelyn being a medic by vocation, who wanted to at least once save mankind. The job was simply the only sensible way to escape the role of the typical upper-class woman that the girl despised with a passion of thousand suns and to which she would have to come back.

That's why now Evelyn leaned forward in the uncomfortable carriage bench with a soft, weary sigh, giving the small village a speculative sweep with her bluish eyes. The unidentifiable stains on the supposedly white buildings and the crumbling plaster was giving the whole place a very dubious feel but she was simply too tired to care.

"What do you mean saying we shouldn't go there?" growled the irritated coachman.

A farmer in his mid-forties shot them a quick glance from behind the old looking straw hat. His glance held a barely concealed displeasure, seemingly regarding the question as quite foul and close on impossible to answer.

"Phantomhive estate has always been a strange place, but since the tragedy no one ventures there. They were a cursed family, good sir, one knows what evil lurks there, especially now. Last night…" he stopped abruptly, reconsidering what to say next. "A strange glow shone from there. As if ghosts returned to the place of the carnage. Old Bartson says that with his grandson they had seen a phantom, as if the house never burned down." the man finished with a gulp of uncertainty.

"Ghosts?" Jonathan held the reins tighter, as if just waiting for a command to retreat.

"You will drive me and then you can come back and stay for a night at the inn. Thank you, sir, for showing us the way," the young woman interjected swiftly, sitting back into her seat and closing the window.

The farmer stared after the departing carriage for a while with a pensive expression as a small pang of guilt attacked his conscious. It lasted all but a few seconds. After all, they were exactly what they were, just rumours, he justified his ignorance to his own simplistic mind. Moreover, the woman and her servant were complete strangers, they were not fond of strangers around here in their closely guarded community, so if anything were to happen… no one would question it, no one would lift a finger.

The sun hung low in the late winter sky, shining its last rays of the day onto the darkening buildings, already on its solitary way to dip behind the horizon. This whole place was giving her the creeps. All the while they were in the village a countless faces were giving them nothing but stern and disdainfully mistrusting looks as though they were some monsters from horror stories, despised and unwelcome.

Evelyn allowed herself a short sigh, turning her head to look out the side window only to get a glimpse of an old couple engaged in a deep glare in her direction while chewing on something that was just then spat out right onto the ground. Guessing what it was would only make her feel sick for sure. They could all go to hell for all she cared; she was getting fed up with their idiotic, in-your-face mannerisms anyway.

The last of the houses quickly disappeared, replaced by soggy fields vigorously grazed upon by few goats, their near white coats starting to shine strangely in the strengthening cascade of moonlight. Even the animals raised their expressionless muzzles and glared sternly while chewing on iced grass and weeds, only they didn't spit it out and their faces didn't sport an ugly countenance. At least the goats had slightly better manners around here, she thought with an irate smirk as she turned her thoughts back to the scowling boy.

Yesterdays meeting between young Earl and his aunt started quite promising. After the brunet explained to Madam Red, that the older woman had to be careful and not push too much the already traumatized boy, the Baroness seemed to hold on, at least until she saw the state of her nephew.

She almost threw herself at him, wanting to rip off his shirt and dress even the smallest scratches. It's embarrassing to admit, but Evelyn did not notice any of them before. The girl panicked seeing as Madam Red freaked out, but not like the boy who was ready to run away without looking back. Ciel froze completely, standing there like a small fawn with big sapphire eye bulging with fright, looking directly in the eyes of a wolf.

The young woman reacted instantly and completely without thinking. She calmed Madam Red declaring that she already examined the boy, who apart from a few bruises and scratches, was perfectly healthy and with just a few well-fed meals he would be as good as new. Evelyn chewed her lips. How anyone could believe such an obvious lie? The child barely stood on his feet, may had few broken ribs, internal bleeding, concussion, not to even mention his bandaged eye. From what she knew, the boy could has been half blind! He was undeniably the biggest brat she had ever met, but it did not change the fact that for the whole last night she was tormented by a guilt of the size of Big Ben.

That is why today, right after her shift, Evelyn told Jonathan to take her to the Phantomhive manor. She slipped from her hand a leather glove and touched the window. The frosty glass felt warm to her icy hand. For a moment her eyes closed as she prayed the cold would push back the boiling guilt. She leaned to the side, touching her temple to the wooden frame, eyes open, unblinking, reflecting the orange glow of the setting sun.

The road narrowed into an old path that led into a thick, dark and untamed forest. The mass of trees resembled an impenetrable barrier of wilderness, a black wall made of shapes that no sculptor could have even dreamed of. Long and disfigured branches of ancient trees intending to discourage a newcomers to the way forward.

Some branches, hanging low and menacing, made her subconsciously lower her head as though they could decapitate her through the roof. The hardwood forest seemed never-ending, last light struggled to get through few narrow gaps between the treetops, making its way through the prolonged shadows to reach the road as the night darkened. Jonathan lit the oil lamp to, at least a little, illuminate the way. He had to strain his eyes to not miss the turning that should lead to Phantomhive manor.

There it was, a mere dirt track off into the depths of the forest. The trees seemed to incline even more, almost intimately trying to reach each other in a long endured longing, their intertwined branches creating a strange crown that blocked all but a few strands of the lunar haze and everything turned almost impenetrably black. The path, reclaimed by weeds and small mounds of mossy carpets, narrowed even more and after what seemed like countless minutes driving at a tediously slow speed. A sturdy gate finally appeared in the near distance, torn out of the darkness by the weak beam of the lamp.

Jonathan had to stop the carriage, unable to go any further as a metal door blocked the path. The heavy booted foot dropped down unsteadily into the small ditch fouled with mud, splashing it onto the woolen trousers. A shiver suddenly slid down the whole length of his spine. The old Scot tensed and glanced around. Despite nearly complete lack of wind, the crooked branches seemed to move, sounding like a whispering of ghostly footsteps aimlessly wandering through the thick of the wild and deformed bushes.

He recalled haunting and unnerving words of the farmer in the village but the hollow sound of an owl pierced through the darkness, quickly snapping him out of blooming paranoia.

The man shook his head at the ridiculous thoughts. There were no such things as ghosts and monsters prowling through the cold nights to pray on lost and innocent souls, only other humans and possibly a few goats. Yesterday he had seen the young Earl with his butler with his own eyes and there was nothing otherworldly in these two.

Jonathan gave the gate a forceful push and the metal bars creaked open with a loud chink.

The noise disturbed the night and the flapping of wings followed, accompanied by a distant howling however it was impossible to see the source through the daunting thickness of the branches and dark shadows. Wolves perhaps? The coachman shrugged it off uncaring as they were not uncommon in the mountains around where he used to live, so it would not be surprising if this place was no different. It was however time to move on, he thought as the chills dug their foul nails into his skin that erupted into an army of goose bumps. He returned to the carriage and drove through the open gate.

Here the thick forest was taken over, quickly and suddenly, by vast parkland. Untamed bushes and majestic trees that seemed older than time itself lay scattered around in solitude or forming lush oasis in the sea of grass as if by the fleeting whim of a long forgotten artist that painted a surreal vision only found in a fairy-tales.

The horizon seemed lined with a wall of pure darkness that disguised the true size of the grounds and made them seem infinite. Even the slight breeze that he felt earlier did not break the overwhelming silence; in fact, there was no wind at all as though it halted at the forest boundary, afraid to intrude on this sleeping land.

As the carriage came to a full stop all sounds vanished completely, swallowed by the dead stillness. The edge of the fog engulfed the intruders. Through the misting windscreen, their eyes peered sternly at the quiet and imposing house that stood right in front of them, as if right in the middle of the nature reclaimed grounds.

There was no sign of fire. It was as if the tragedy from a few weeks had never happened, and the mansion had not changed for decades. It stood there unmarked and steady like a mountain. The rather low but broad proportions were composed of two identical l-shaped wings connected at the longer side. The frontage of the two levels mansion was adorned by many large, twelve-pane windows that on the first floor were interspaced by statues of gargoyles, whose faces were twisted into the most disturbing and scary expressions. The roof appeared flat, cluttered by high chimneys reaching to the sky. The entire building would give off a feeling of emptiness if not a flicker of light in one of the windows on the second floor to suggest a sign of life inside it.

"Hoo oan earth?" muttered flabbergasted Jonathan studying the building with piercing scrutiny.

"Some time ago, I heard that Lady Milford was planning to rebuild the mansion so she could sell it. I've never thought she would do it so soon." not letting her eyes stray off the large spellbound house, the girl slipped out of the confines of the carriage, inhaling the freshness of the air that was filled with the soft scent of wilderness and something else that she could not quite identify but for sure it was not ash.

"But, miss, what if it's truly the doing of some sort of dark force?"

"I think this force wouldn't be too dark if it has nothing better to do than rebuild old households." she mused walking to the entrance. Evelyn exhaled heavily, standing on the doorstep and preparing to ring a bell but even before she touched it, the door opened smoothly, as if unlocked by a ghost.

The first thing that hit her was the unusually pleasant smell. It reminded her of some sort of exotic spices with strong hints of dark chocolate. It was that delicious, expensive kind of chocolate rich in coco, almost as if made of pure coco beans. It made her close her eyes for a few seconds to breathe it in.

"What a pleasant surprise, Lady Douglas. We were not expecting to see you so soon."

The girl almost jumped hearing the seductive voice whose owner was bathed in a soft lamplight.

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience," she apologized, barely hiding the earlier lack of attention. "I know it's late, and that I haven't warned the Earl about my visit, but I would like to see him. Is it possible?"

"Of course, my Lady, please come in."

Evelyn needed only to nod in the direction of Jonathan to the old man knew what to do. The coachman with her suitcase in hand, walked up to the butler alike one old predator to another trying to take his place. With the handing of the luggage occurred also an exchange of glances promising miserable fate to anyone who would even think about exceeding the established limits.

Normally, the blue-eyed doctor would scold the rude behavior of her servant, but even _she_ had to admit that the disturbing atmosphere of the place affected her temper. Before she had a chance to thank him, the man in black pulled the door shut, leaving two of them in the stuffy darkness dissipated only by a faint glimmer of the oil lamp in his hand.

"If I can ask you to come with me, Lady Douglas?" the question was clearly rhetorical, because the butler went ahead without waiting for the answer. Or he simply started to be tired of waiting for it, while the woman blankly stared at the locked door.

Evelyn blinked and quickly walked after the retreating figure in a black tailcoat that shined like moonless midnight. The circle of light gliding alongside him across the dark room gave her the opportunity to look around.

It was a truly marvelous old manor with a great hall that reached over both floors, proudly displaying its glory under a superbly painted ceiling. Polished marble floors made from noble black and white stone that continued its splendor up the paneled walls and the masterfully carved staircase leading to the first floor gave the room a capacious and luxurious feeling. Beautifully framed pictures were blending into the stately charm yet their lack of warmth lent the hall an eerie atmosphere.

They climbed the staircase, and delved into a maze of corridors that led them to one slightly open door, behind which shone a bright light. The new room was a grand space, to say the least. The huge mahogany table took up most of the vast space the dark, intimidating dining room offered, left without a tablecloth as if daring guests to ruin the perfectly varnished shine with their unworthy fingerprints. Two tall, silver candelabras commanded attention from the center of the table, holding smooth white candles whose wax had never dripped.

At the top of the table with the beautifully arranged napkin and a majestic wine glass sat the tiny boy. He appeared a little less haunted this time, perhaps it was a trick of the old rags he was wearing earlier as now he was clad in clean, fine clothes. The child's face was illuminated directly by the candles and received a slightly healthier sheen more in semblance to a breathing being. His expression however conveyed a clear annoyance and a haughty coldness as he sat there, silently observing her.

"Good evening, Young Lord," Evelyn said respectfully, nodding her head with a false smile. For a moment she did not think he would respond at all. Then, with great stiffness, he cleared his throat and spoke in a manner that could only be described as politely aggressive, or was it ill-polite?

"What do you want?"

Her gaze slipped downwards as the girl closed her eyes tight for a while, steadying her breathing and counting to ten.

"Our last meeting was rather unexpected for me, thus I neglected my medical duties. Despite this, I assured the Baroness that you are in good shape. I would like to make sure that it is true." Because you looked like you could drop dead at any moment was left unsaid.

"Are you saying you made a mistake?" he inquired with undisguised glee.

"Yes," she was unable to deny it. "And now I want to fix it."

"Sebastian can take care of me." Ciel gave her an expressionless, scrutinizing stare that made her feel very small, with a feeling akin to an undeserving servant begging for forgiveness at the behest of a strict master, at least until she remembered that the look belonged to a eight year old boy.

"I'm sure that your butler is a quite capable mercenary if he got you out of whatever hell in which you were, but you have to be in top shape if you want to take the title of Lord Phantomhive and impress the Queen. For now you don't look like her Royal Guard Dog. You can't even stand straight let alone avenge your parents."

The boy's bottom lip began to tremble, the built up rage threatening to erupt like a new born volcano but the fierce figure of a woman standing in front of him weakened, her shoulders slumped and sapphire eyes lost their dangerous glint.

"I'm not here to judge, pity, or take advantage of you. I'm not your friend nor an enemy. I have a debt to your father, kid, and I want to repay it, that's all. I'll put you on your feet and each of us will go our own merry way", she promised.

No matter how much he hated it, Ciel needed help and he knew it. The demon was not an expert on human health, and the sooner the boy would be at full strength, the better. The Earl did not have the time or means to lose so why should he reject another pawn that was literally pushing itself into his hands?

"Sebastian, pour a cup of tea for Lady Douglas and prepare a room." the little Lord instructed his butler and with strange satisfaction watched as a porcelain teacup was filled with a brown liquid.

"You should work on your manners, my lord. It is common to propose much earlier for your guests to take a seats."

"Until now, you were not a guest, but an intruder", he summed up by what, to his surprise, earned him a soft burst of laughter.

"You have to learn what and when to say, not so much to impress the Queen as Lady Midford."

"You know Aunt Francis?"

"I know her reputation, that's enough," she said, taking a sip of tea.

The young Earl could not help but drop his jaw.

"How could you swallow it? The tea is horrible." Ciel had hoped that Sebastian's nonexistent capacities in the field of human catering would bring him a least some enjoyment. Unfortunately, for now the demon was much less useful than might had been expected.

"I've had worse," she declared, glancing at his untouched meal. "If that's all I would like to examine you."

Ciel felt himself stiffen, although his confident demeanor didn't waver.

"Good," he muttered and carefully lifted up from the chair. The man in black was at his master side in a blink of an eye and began to undress him. Evelyn had forgotten earlier about the butler's presence, but he did not hold her thoughts for too long.

When Sebastian helped remove young Phantomhive's shirt, the boy's hands movement were frail and wary, shaking gently as he reached up. They were ashen where the candle light caught them, not ghostly like a pale person, just subdued and greyish. She thought that was the first time she realized how vulnerable the kid was and how much of a toll the tragedy had taken. Evelyn was trying not to stare at a brand on his back but she kept finding her eyes had diverted to it. One moment they were obediently on his covered eye and the next they were rested on the bloody mess that had been once a perfectly ordinary flawless skin.

He was now practically naked in front of her and she could barely recognize him. The boy's posture was all wrong. He moved like a scarecrow more than a human and all lop-sided at that. As she neared to him her heart dropped right into her shoes. His legs were more purple than white and his whole left side was swollen - he should not be out of bed for a while yet.

She reached for the child's hand and stiffened at the fear in his eyes. Ciel nearly retreated but collected himself at the last moment and stood still. He hated every moment of it but he did not move. He also had it worse.

Ω

Evelyn slipped into her form-fitting, pristine white nightgown and strolled through the bedroom, combing her black hair. She paused in the middle of the spacious room, her gaze resting on an elegant love-seat that was neatly tucked under a beautiful bay window, the dim moonlight streaming its ethereal light onto the soft fabric, very invitingly so.

There was this strange feeling that accompanied her ever since stopping at that old gateway. It was burning and tingling in her stomach, like a sense of something sinister lurking about, watching her, whispering darkly and inaudibly, yet her mind did not seem to panic as if it was nothing to be worried about.

The clock struck twelve when absentmindedly, she knelt on the seat and leaning forward, turned her gaze towards the star littered sky. There were so many, hundreds more than she noticed after moving to London, where the bright lights of the city were obscuring the true extent of their vastness. While here, in the absolute darkness, not a single light spoiling their brilliance, she could see every single one. She locked eyes on a small bluish star that in some odd way reminded her a single azure eye she saw today.

Ciel did not let her see his wounded eye almost setting Sebastian on her when the doctor did not want to give up. Rubbing her wrist she had to admit that the Phantomhive's butler had a firm grip. The woman could not believe it but she sincerely felt sorry for this small, arrogant idiot and hoped that her currently negligence would not take vengeance on him one day.

The rest was relatively fine. Sure, he needed his rest, rehabilitation and probably a cane to move freely, but it was nothing that time could not heal. Evelyn was used to the pain and the suffering; in the hospital corridors you could rarely stumble on anything else, but it were not them that worried her so. It was the sheer agony in his gaze. The invincible steel in his one, big, childish eye that was hiding a screaming soul.

The dark-haired woman was remembering the last time she saw anything like it when a strange noise startled her and she dropped the brush from the hands. She picked it up from a chestnut flooring showing an almost luminous sheen. It just occurred to her how clean and tidy it all seemed, not a single speck of dust, not a single stain or a faded surface, a pile of neatly chopped up wood stacked up by the fireplace. Everything was so mercilessly perfect it was scary – truly inhuman.

The odd sound once more rent the air, this time louder. The girl recognized it as sobbing. It was the kind of sound that bypassed any logical thinking and went directly to emotional response. High pitched and raw it was the sound of a child in pain. Evelyn's head turned and one bare set of feet sprinted in the direction of the cry.

Ω

The flame had no values, shame or mind, yet it consumed all that it wanted. Its only criteria was if it could take it and reduce it to ash or something molten and foul, then it would. The flames burned hot, short and passionate, with no care what would be left behind. So when Sebastian stared into a lit oil lamp in his hand it was not fire he saw, he saw human's despair. He felt their desires. He recalled how savage, spiteful, ruthless, callous, empty, unforgiving and mean spirited they could be. They fascinated and repulsed him at the same time.

Especially the child, that he had just started to grow. People believed that his species served them, of course, in some twisted way it was true, there were after all THE RULES and that was why Sebastian served the young Earl in the same way that a farmer worked for his pigs.

Patrolling the manor corridors his face was enhanced by a hint of a cruel smile in the form of an upward twitch of the left corner of his mouth and the devilish glee in his strangely lit burgundy eyes. Permanence, perseverance and persistence in spite of all complications, hindrances, and dead ends; it was what distinguished the strong souls from the weak ones. It was why the boy was so different than the rest. Despite everything he had not given up. It was his cry of desperation and hatred that caught the attention of a bored demon. And even now every night the sounds of it... The butler stopped in his tracks and listened, but his ears encountered nothing more than silence. There were no more haunted cries and tear drenched shrieks. It was good but no less disturbing.

A child's body needs to rest, so every night his little master fall asleep, nevertheless if Ciel had the choice he probably would not do it. Sleep came like the falling of an axe. He knew it had to come but the boy fought it with everything he had. He was utterly wired until that time when he could not fight it anymore and the sleep was as sudden as it was unwelcome. His dreams were only memories of this hell of reality. The nightmare was always the same. Paralyzed, naked, cold. It reminded him of deadlines both near and distant, demanding to slice the time between now and then ever thinner to apportion hours and minutes. Sebastian was not even sure how it should be called, after all, how could anyone call it a nightmare, if it did not leave the boy's presence when he awoke?

The demon took two steps and in a manner understandable to no mortal man found himself in the doorway of the bedroom of his new master. As always, Ciel's cheeks were wet and his body was bathed in a cold sweat. The sheets were twisted around his limbs because the child was thrashing in his sleep. Nevertheless the room was not entirely dark as usual. There was a dim light. The remnants of the boy's nightmare no longer clung to his mind, haunting him. His heart thumped in accordance with slow, shallow breaths. Tranquility was plastered across his face as he slept at peace, his mind serenely blank.

Earl Phantomhive was cuddled into the front of his guest. At this moment even for Sebastian he looked like a young child, too big to be a baby but still very young. For the most part the boy kept his head buried in her cotton nightgown, his black hair sticking out behind like he'd just woken up from a long nap. His fingers curled into the fabric over her belly, clasping it tightly. Every time she even twitched, his fingers gripping tighter to reassure him they were staying together.

The woman was too young to be his mother, maybe an older sister? They were even quite similar to each other. One arm she reached up to stroke his hair while the second one was holding a book. The demon raised one perfect eyebrow seeing its title. The young doctor had specific taste, although it was hard for him to imagine anyone who would strain their eyes in the dim light of a candle to read _Manual Knitting_.

"My Lady?" he whispered, wanting to know what the Phantomhive guest was doing with his future meal.

Sapphire eyes anchored her attention on the butler but nearly immediately wandered back to the book.

"His body needs rest, and a feminine presence is commonly known as soothing."

"He will not like it," noticed the man, already hearing the annoying, childish screams about wounded male pride.

"Not if he will not know," she whispered back turning a page. "He's a child, Sebastian, and for some odd reason I can't imagine you comforting him."

Ω

When dawn came, Evelyn could barely move. She wanted to be selfish and not had a guilt but she just couldn't. This was a battle the no-so-heartless doctor couldn't win so she swallowed it all down and lie next to him. He was not satisfied until he had arms around her neck, a leg over her belly and breathed softly in her face. She knew she should find it adorable but the girl liked her space so she gently tried to get him to let her go, but it was like pulling an octopus off it's prey. The brunette really was not much of a hugger, she never even liked teddy bears as a kid.

Her every muscle stiffened. Unable to move with any grace her movements were jerky, the girl edged into the gentle light that flowed water-like through the curtained windows and her throat felt like the Arabian desert, she decided to look for something to drink.

The corridors were empty and silent. Absence of life lingered in the air, thick and heavy, like a blanket. Wherever Evelyn moved, that hollowness followed, always watching never fading. She was so focused on the nothingness she had not noticed when and how she reached a kitchen. It was as if the estate itself led her there, not wanting to let the stranger wander in it halls.

As usual in similar manors kitchen were hidden in a basement, which also housed other rooms occupied by servants, and where family members never dared to tread, because they simply did not have such a need. However, in the household without even one maid Evelyn had no remorse doing so. Sebastian the butler somehow did not suit her. The man was too perfect to be at the beck and call of someone like her. Maybe if she was a queen, or at least Marquises but otherwise it was unnatural.

Speaking of the devil, the unholy handsome man was standing over a stove in the middle of the room. As everything else in the Phantomhive manor it was spotless and grand but more than a good impression, here the functionality counted. The kitchen was fully equipped, but the man in it apparently did not know how to use it.

"You're doing it wrong," she interjected, peering over his shoulder. "A spoon of a tea for each person and one more for a pot. Then half of pint of boiling water and let it steep until it's dark."

"Thank you, My Lady, but I wasn't aware that a lady would know how to do such a mundane task" he wondered, however did exactly as instructed. Meanwhile the woman sat at the table.

"I am of noble blood, but I didn't grow up detached from reality. Moreover, it is only a tea making. I'm afraid that If you require assistance with cooking, then you have to ask Jonathan when he arrives. He sometimes helps in the kitchen. I am hopeless in it."

"Then I shall ask him," the demon looked at his flawless reflection in a tea before covering a pot and setting a teacup before Evelyn. Thoughtfully he sniffed an aroma coming from the liquid filling her cup. The smell was more intense, bitter- without milk or sugar it had to be beyond unpleasant. One more thing he did not understand in humans.

He focused on the doctor's reaction wanting to know if he did it right. The dark-haired female slammed her eyes shut and hummed with pleasure.

"Perfect. A little more practice, and I'm sure you will be one hell of a butler. What did I say?" She asked, seeing his shoulders shaking with laughter.

"Excuse me, Miss, it's nothing. Just a personal joke." His voice answered happily like a mountain river. It was beautiful. Everything here was so right and it was wrong- really wrong.

 **Thank you to all the reviewers/faves/alerts, and to** **mrsmiawallace88 for her awesomeness!**


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